The phone was propped up against a half-empty water bottle, the little red “LIVE” icon glowing in the corner as tens of thousands of fans poured in. The rehearsal room behind you was chaos — cables everywhere, half-finished coffee cups, Victoria’s bass propped against an amp. Ethan was somewhere off-screen, drumming on his knees like he couldn’t physically stop himself.

And then there was Damiano, sitting beside you on the couch, one arm comfortably draped behind your shoulders like he always did whenever the livestream comment section got too wild.

"Alright, alright," he said into the camera, leaning forward with that signature grin, "we promised a live today because someone" — he poked your side gently — "decided we should say hi before the new music comes out."

"I didn’t decide anything," you protested, laughing. "I just said it might be nice."

"Which means: she decided." He lounged back again, smug, while the comments exploded.

You rolled your eyes dramatically and waved at the screen. "Hi everyone. Yes, I’m here. Yes, I’m alive. No, Damiano didn’t kidnap me."

"You think they don’t know you’d escape in like thirty seconds?" he said, smirking. The fans spammed laughing emojis.

Victoria wandered into frame for a moment, stole Damiano’s sunglasses off his head, and walked away without a word. He stared after her, betrayed.

"This band," he muttered, "is a dictatorship."

"It’s not," you said sweetly. "You’re just the oldest so you think you have authority."

"Oh, I do," he shot back, "especially over you."

You snorted, nudging his knee with yours. "Protective older grandpa energy coming through again?"

He tilted his head, giving you an offended look. "Excuse me, I am not old enough to be anyone’s grandpa!"

"You’re literally the oldest person in the band."

"And you," he pointed at you, "are the baby. So yes, I will protect you. It’s my legal duty."

The comments went wild and Damiano pretended not to read them, adjusting the phone closer so he could glance at the chat anyway.

"Someone asked how rehearsals are going," you said, reading one of the questions.

"Good," Damiano answered, a little softer now. "This one’s been working harder than anyone." He said, poking you again

You shot him a small glare that didn’t quite hide your smile. "Stop saying that."

"It’s true," he insisted calmly. "You're the one I work with the most. Second vocals, harmonies, arrangements…."

He said it casually, but his hand moved slightly closer behind your shoulders — a subtle little thing the fans probably wouldn’t catch, but you felt it immediately.

Someone in the chat typed: 'DAMIANO IS SO PROTECTIVE OF HER OMG🥺🔥🔥😭😭😭😭🔥😍'

Damiano squinted at the screen. "I can see your comments, you know."

You laughed, leaning a bit into his side. "They’re not wrong."

"Slander," he declared. "I am a perfectly normal, totally unprotective, very chill bandmate."

"Sure." You tapped his knee. "Keep lying to them."

He gave you a look — the kind that said he’d argue, but only when the live was over — and then turned back to the camera with a grin.

"Anyway," he said, "we’ll play you a little teaser later if you behave."